Still in the Woods

My journey through perimenopause (so far)

I want to start off by saying that I’ve always been moody. Or at least a person who thinks a bit too much and can tend to get anxious. My 20s was a decade of ennui. And plenty of fun and adventure too, for sure. But let’s just say, going into this account of perimenopause and all of its accompanying challenges, that I didn’t start out a super sunny person. Who is, all the time? But I think it’s worth mentioning. Almost as if the hormonal changes of perimenopause sort of distorted and amplified my moods, more than created entirely new ones. (I'd like to note here that Microsoft Word doesn’t recognize perimenopause as a word.)

An example: While traveling in Europe in 1990 with my then-boyfriend now-husband Chris we would split up occasionally for the day. I remember a day like this in Prague. On that day I headed over to some touristy spot, I think the Castle, and met a guy while in a small gallery looking at some paintings. He was sweet and chatty and gave the impression of someone who just liked to be with people and have interesting conversations, so we spent the afternoon together, walking around looking at things and talking. I can’t remember where he was from, but he spoke excellent English. It was lovely. He reminded me of an ex-boyfriend. 

But that day was an anomaly. Most of the days Chris and I spent apart I would head to a café or museum with my journal (always with my journal) and brood, writing out my questions and observations and doubts and lamenting the fact that I was alone in a cafe writing in my journal instead of doing something worthwhile. It all led to lots and lots of filled-up journals, so I don’t really consider that writing to have been super “productive” (maybe because it felt like a substitute for interacting with people or exploring). I’m know I’m being hard on myself. Spending time alone writing is a perfectly fine thing to do. But I do see all that moody journaling as evidence of my nature: thoughtful, maybe to a fault. 

Meanwhile Chris, who had a guitar, would literally come back to our apartment with friends. Groups of them. Young men who liked music and were hanging out (usually East Germans who travel in packs when they’re teens) and who Chris could communicate with well enough to have fun. At least I enjoyed the benefits of Chris's social skills (and the magical way music brings people together).

It wasn't that I was a gloomy young woman. Back at home in San Francisco I loved throwing parties and have always had lots of friends and strong friendships. But the anxiousness that I (looking back) associate with hormonal changes crept into my life pretty early, compared to other women I know.  So with that in mind I pose the question: When did it begin? Where does the story of this transition start? It’s been physical and emotional and even spiritual, in a sense. It’s involved therapy and pharmaceuticals and disease and treatment and ongoing changes that are both so, so difficult and also empowering, revealing and transformative. 

It’s perimenopause, that transition that isn’t adolescence, but bears some resemblance. It’s not pregnancy. It’s the third big change. And it’s something to be endured, investigated and respected. It doesn’t offer gifts or gains like the first two transitions. Adolescence/puberty bring budding sexuality and fertility. Pregnancy brings a baby.  Menopause’s “gifts” or gains are very abstract. They’re hard to see, even impossible at times.

I'm going to use this space to explore the roots of my own perimenopausal transition, the hard stuff and what I've learned and gained along the way. I want to do this for two reasons: There isn't enough information out there about what women go through during this transition (science or anecdotal) and I want my daughters to have a sense of what I went through, in case it's helpful for them.

Next post: When did my perimenopause begin?